


Thistle and snowdrops

by kvetch (thotchke)



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:14:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29457315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thotchke/pseuds/kvetch
Summary: A small picnic on a cold night.
Kudos: 5





	Thistle and snowdrops

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amummy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amummy/gifts).



> My half of a trade with the lovely Amummy!

It's not unusual to find Briar working late. Honestly, it would be a shock if he  _ wasn't _ head down in his latest experiment. And as Ouro rounded the corner past the plants that climbed the basement walls, he wasn't surprised to find light coming from beneath Briar's door.

The door was a threshold that, even a full year after first arriving, Ouro hadn't crossed. Briar was kind enough to allow him to stay at the cottage—and he even humored Ouro by drinking the tea set out for him most nights. The least he could do was mind boundaries Briar set out.

A pause fell over Ouro, knuckles centimeters from the door.  _ Should I invite him up? Does he even remember that today marks twelve months? _ He looked down, his shoulders tight and heart racing.  _ No. He doesn't. And that's fine. _

"Briar"—he called, voice just above the sound of his own knocking—"I made the rounds with the mister out here after checking the soil." Ouro didn't expect an answer, and so wasn't disappointed when there wasn't a response save from the sound of a metal fixture being adjusted. Another moment passed as Ouro waited, he wasn't sure for what. No other noises came, no footsteps approached.

"I'll see you around. Best of luck on your research this evening." Echoes of the conversation that could have been followed Ouro as he turned and made his way back up the stairs—each creak of the boards a new direction it could have gone.

But it went the way that it usually did when Briar was tucked away in his room.  _ And that's fine. _ Ouro reassured himself again as he stood at the top of the stairs. And it was, at least for that moment.

Given the hour wasn't too late—it had to be six at the latest—Ouro decided to celebrate by himself. A small picnic beneath the night sky would keep him from going down too many  _ what-if _ rabbit holes. 

What followed next was a slow dance about the kitchen. From the stove with the kettle, to the lightly stocked fridge, to the bread box on the counter. Ouro kept moving and soon he was so occupied with making his tea and food that his mind was free of the few uncomfortable thoughts that would have otherwise lingered.

Soon enough Ouro had a basket prepared—including a thermos of tea—and a pleased smile on his lips. He collected a blanket from the back of the rocker in the living room and looked back towards the basement door one last time. 

"Happy one year anniversary," Ouro said to the empty air.  _ Anniversary. _ The word felt silly to use aloud, and he frowned.

"Well, shall we?" He continued to himself and headed for the back door. Cold nipped at his nose and cheeks before he even set foot outside. February air wasn't forgiving, even out in the milder countryside he now called home.

But it was fine. More than fine. A lovely dinner under the stars would keep his mind off the cold. At least, that's what he told himself as he shut the door and made his way through the various tiered beds. He  _ could _ sit beside the many beautiful beds of flowers, but he wanted something more secluded. So down the winding path he went, guided by the pale light of the full moon through the thicket of trees and into the open field beyond.

With a flick of the blanket, Ouro made a small space to sit among the grass and few flowers that managed to bloom even in the dead of winter. Snowdrops and thistle were the two he saw most of, though he was sure he would find more, the longer he looked. There was always more to find out in these parts.

As he went to take a seat, something pushed into his thigh and Ouro frowned again. The small box in his pocket. A gift.  _ An anniversary gift. _ Even the thought of it made his cheeks go warm with embarrassment. Was he really planning on handing such a trinket over?

Well, yes. But perhaps another day. Another twelve months in the future.

Ouro took his seat and set the box aside. Its little twine ribbon wasn't much, but what was inside—it would wait.

What wouldn't wait was the gurgle Ouro's stomach made. How he could be hungry while also damn near freezing and mildly flustered was beyond him, but that was the price of a human form he supposed. 

Despite having bundled up in a sweater and knit hat, he shivered as he retrieved his sandwich squares from the basket. Between the cold and the mocking presence of the present, Ouro nearly packed right back up. But he was determined to enjoy himself, and he had hauled everything out to do just that.

Even as he struggled with the cold, he was able to appreciate the field spread out before him. It was beautifully lit by the moon's rays, and that in and of itself was enough to give him reason to continue his ill-advised picnic.

A smile found his features again as he took his first bite. Mild winter winds were well worth getting to enjoy the gentle splendor before him, he decided. Though perhaps he would find a scarf and some gloves next time.

Just as he reached for his tea, footsteps drew him from his thoughts. They were already very close, and Ouro turned just enough to spot Briar on his approach through the wood.

"Good evening," he said.

"You look cold." Briar pointed out, his tone flat.

"Ah, yes, well—" Ouro's fumbling got promptly cut off as Briar slipped his jacket off and laid it across his shoulders. "Oh. Thank you."

Briar stood at the edge of the blanket for a moment and looked from it to Ouro.

"Oh! Would you care to join me?" Ouro offered and gestured to the space beside him. Wordlessly, Briar accepted. "Here, would you like part of my sandwich?" At this, however, Briar raised a hand.

"No, thank you."

The two sat together then in relative quiet. Even without a word between them, a curl of warmth formed in Ouro's chest, familiar and aching. 

"What's that?" Briar asked and gestured to the small box nearby. The question was enough to pull Ouro from his thoughts and he cleared his throat as he looked from Briar to the box and back.

"Oh, that? It"—Ouro started as he searched for a way to talk around it. Having found none, his shoulders drew in as he picked it up. "It's for you, actually." He offered it to Briar and averted his gaze for a moment as he took and carefully opened it.

"It's a… comb? And this on it is larkspur?" Briar said as he looked the gift over with subdued interest.

"Yes. I noticed sometimes when you're working your hair ends up in the way more than not. The larkspur is dried and preserved in resin. Clippings that were used and to be composted." For the third time that night, Ouro felt tendrils of embarrassment creep up. But he pushed past.

"Here, let me." Ouro held a hand out for the comb, and Briar obliged. A lump formed in his throat as he leaned closer, Briar's eyes fixed on him and lit with curiosity. In one smooth motion he combed back a section of Briar's long red hair and gently pinned it with the comb. "There we are."

Before Ouro could pull his hand away, Briar's joined it. The light touch drew Ouro's focus for a moment and the warmth in his chest grew.

"Thank you, Ouro." Briar held his gaze for a moment longer as he brushed his fingers along the back of Ouro's hand. 

"Of course." It's the only reply Ouro could manage, his voice otherwise caught in his throat. Shyness overrode the desire to hang onto the brief closeness and Ouro withdrew his hand with a smile. "I hope it helps."

A renewed quiet fell over the two as Ouro settled back in beside Briar and pulled the thermos close to warm his hands. And as they looked over the moonlit field together, something else bloomed with the thistle and snowdrops.


End file.
